CHAPTER XXII
THE ACID TEST
Jack Kilmeny opened his eyes to find himself in darkness utter andcomplete except for a pinpoint of light gleaming from far above. Hishead was whirling and throbbing painfully. Something warm and moistdropped into his eyes, and when he put his hand up to investigate thecause he knew it must be blood from a wound.
Faintly the sound of voices and of harsh laughter drifted down to him.Presently this died away. The stillness was almost uncanny.
"Something laid me out, I reckon. Must have been a bad whack." Hisfinger found a ridge above the temple which had been plowed through thethick curly hair. "Looks as though a glancing bullet hit me. Golden luckit didn't finish the job."
He moved. A sharp pain shot through his lower right leg. Trying to rise,he slipped down at once from a badly sprained ankle. Every muscle in hisbody ached, as if he had been jarred by a hard fall.
"Better have a look around first," he told himself.
Groping in his pocket, he found a match case and struck a light. What hesaw made him shudder. From the ledge upon which he lay fell away a gulf,the bottom of which could be only guessed. His eyes, becoming accustomedto the darkness, made out that he was in some sort of shaft, thirty feetor more below the surface. Rotten from age, the timberings had slippedand become jammed. Upon some of these he was resting. The sprainedankle, by preventing him from moving, had saved him from plunging downthe well.
He held out a silver dollar and dropped it. From the time the coin tookto strike Jack judged he was a hundred feet from the bottom.
The flare of a second match showed him a wall ladder leading down, butunfortunately it did not extend above him except in rotting fragments.What had happened he could guess. Supposing him to be dead, his enemieshad dropped the body down this deserted shaft. Not for a moment did hedoubt who they were. The voices had been unmistakably Cornish, and evenwithout that evidence he would have guessed Peale and his partner as theguilty ones.
Since he could not go up he went down, moving warily so as not to jarloose the timbers upon which he lay. Every rung of the ladder he testedwith great care before he put his weight upon it. Each step of thejourney down sent a throb of pain from the ricked ankle, even though herested his weight on his hands while he lowered himself. From the lastrung--it was by actual count the one hundred forty-third--he stepped tothe ground.
Another match showed him a drift running from the foot of the shaft.Along this he dragged himself slowly, uncertain of direction butdetermined to find out what possibility of escape his prison offered.For two hundred yards the tunnel led forward and brought him up sharplyat an _impasse_. A cave-in blocked farther advance.
"Check," Jack told himself aloud grimly.
He knew now that his situation was a very serious one, for he had beenflung alive into a grave that offered only a slight prospect of escape.He was without food, effectually cut off from the surface of the earth,and none but those who had assaulted him knew that he was buried.
The alternatives that lay before him were plain. He might climb theladder again to the timber ledge and keep calling for help, or he mightattempt to dig a way over the cave-in with his hands and hispocketknife, trusting that the tunnel led to another shaft. The formerwas a chance pure and simple, and a slender one at that. It was notlikely that anybody would pass the mouth of a deserted shaft far up inthe hills at this season of the year. But it was quite within theprobabilities that the tunnel led to some of the workings of a liveproperty. Many miles of underground drifts were connected byintercepting stopes of adjoining mines. If he could force a way throughthe cave-in there might be safety beyond. To go moling into such a placewithout timbering would be a dangerous business, but the crisis was onethat justified any risk.
He took stock of his assets. Fortunately he had bought at a lunchcounter a ham sandwich to stay his appetite during the night trip. Thiswas still in his pocket, badly mashed but still edible. Five cigars werein the case he carried and upon his person all told he found elevenmatches. A little trickle of water ran through the tunnel and gaveassurance that he would not die of thirst. His pocketknife was aserviceable one and he had plenty of physical strength.
Jack decided that he would eat half of the sandwich that day and reservethe rest for the second one. His cigars were precious luxuries to beindulged in once every twenty-four hours after he had knocked off work.
He attacked the cave-in with the cool energy that characterized him. Outof a piece of board he fashioned a kind of shovel with his knife. Bitsof broken timbering lay at the foot of the shaft. These he dragged intothe tunnel for fuel to feed a small fire which he built to give lightfor the work. All through the night and till noon the following day hedug among the fallen rocks and dirt, cleaning this _debris_ away afterhe had loosened it with his bare hands.
The impact of the fall when he had been thrown down the shaft had jarredhim greatly. With the slightest movement of the body his back andshoulders ached, sending shoots of pain in protest to his brain. Thesprained ankle he had bound tightly in a wet handkerchief, but everytime his weight rested on that leg he had to grit his teeth. But it wasnot in him to quit. He stuck to his job till he had done the shift sethimself.
At noon he crawled back to the foot of the shaft. He was fagged toexhaustion. For half an hour he lay stretched on his back with everymuscle relaxed.
Presently he cut from his coat the pocket that contained the sandwichand divided the mash of ham and bread into two parts. One of these heate. The other he returned to the coat.
Favoring his ricked ankle as best he could, Jack climbed the wall ladderto the ledge upon which he had found himself lying the previous night.Five minutes' examination of the walls showed him that there was nochance to reach the top of the shaft unaided. He tested the jammedtimbers to make sure they were secure before he put his weight uponthem. During the next six hours he called aloud every few minutes toattract the attention of anyone who might chance to be passing near.
Toward evening he treated himself to his first cigar, making the mostof the comfort that it gave him. When the stub grew short he held it onthe small blade of his knife so as not to miss a puff. What was left hewrapped in a pocket handkerchief for later use.
As the stars began to come out in the little patch of blue sky he couldsee just above his prison Jack lowered himself again to the foot of theshaft. Here he lay down a second time and within five minutes had falleninto a deep sleep.
About midnight he awakened and was aware at once of a ravenous hunger.He was still resolute to win a way out, though the knowledge pressed onhim that his chances were slender at the best. Till morning he workedwithout a moment's rest. The fever in his ankle and the pain of thesprain had increased, but he could not afford to pay any attention tothem. Blood from his scarred, torn hands ran down his wrists. Everymuscle in his abused body ached. Still he stabbed with his knife intothe earth that filled the tunnel and still he pulled great rocks backwith his shovel. All his life he had fought for his own hand. He wouldnot let himself believe fate had played so scurvy a trick as to lock himalive into a tomb closed so tightly that he could not pry a way out.
When his watch told him it was eight o'clock he staggered to the shaftagain and lay down on his back to rest. Before climbing to the platformabove he finished the sandwich. He was very hungry and could have eatenenough for two men had he been given the opportunity. Again for hours hecalled every few minutes at the top of his voice.
In his vest pocket were a pencil and a notebook used for keeping theaccounts of the highgraders with whom he did business. To pass the timehe set down the story of the crime which had brought him here and hisefforts to free himself.
After darkness fell he let himself down to the foot of the shaft andslept. Either from hunger or from fever in his ankle he slept brokenly.He was conscious of a little delirium in his waking spells, but thecoming of midnight found him master of himself, though a triflelightheaded.
It was impossible to work as steadily as
he had done during the twoprevious nights. Hunger and pain and toil were doing their best to wearout his strength. His limbs moved laggardly. Once he fell asleep in themidst of his labor. He dreamed of Moya, and after he awakened--as hepresently did with a start--she seemed so near that it would scarce havesurprised him if in the darkness his hands had come in contact with thesoft flesh of her vivid face. Nor did it strike him as at all odd thatit was Moya and not Joyce who was visiting him when he was in prison.Sometimes she came to him as the little girl of the _Victorian_, butmore often the face he saw was the mocking one of the young woman, inwhich gayety overran the tender sadness of the big, dusky eyes beneathwhich tiny freckles had been sprinkled. More than once he clearly heardher whisper courage to him.
Next day the notes in his diary were more fragmentary.
"Broke my rule and smoked two cigars to-day. Just finished my fourth. Leaves one more. I drink a great deal. It helps me to forget I'm hungry. Find a cigar goes farther if I smoke it in sections. I chew the stubs while I'm working.
"Have tunneled in about seventeen feet. No sign that I'm near the end of the cave-in. There's a lot of hell in being buried alive.
"Think I'm losing my voice from shouting so much when I'm in the shaft. Gave it up to-day and let little Moya call for me. She's a trump. Wish she'd stay here all the time and not keep coming and going."
The jottings on the fourth day show the increase of the delirium.Sometimes his mind appears to be quite clear, then it wanders to queerfancies.
"Last cigar gone. Got sick from eating the stub. Violent retchings. Kept falling asleep while working. Twenty-nine feet done--surely reach the end to-morrow.... Another cave-in just after I crawled out from my tunnel. All my work wiped out. Moya, the little devil, laughed and said it served a highgrader right....
"Have telegraphed for help. Can't manage alone. Couldn't make it up the shaft and had to give up the climb. Ordered a big breakfast at the Silver Dollar--steak and mushrooms and hot cakes. The telegraph wires run through pipe along floor of tunnel. Why don't the operator stay on his job? I tap my signals and get no answer."
He began to talk to himself in a rambling sort of way. Sometimes hewould try to justify himself for highgrading in jerky half-coherentphrases, sometimes he argued with Peale that he had better let him out.But even in his delirious condition he stuck to his work in the tunnel,though he was scarce able to drag himself about.
As the sickness grew on him, the lightheaded intervals became morefrequent. In one of these it occurred to him that he had struck highgrade ore and he filled his pockets with samples taken from the cave-in.He spent a good deal of time explaining to Moya patiently over and overagain that the business of highgrading was justified by the conditionsunder which the miners lived. There was no sequence to his thoughts.They came in flashes without logical connection. It became, forinstance, a firm obsession that the pipe running through the tunnel wasa telegraph wire by means of which he could communicate with the outsideworld if the operator would only stay on duty. But his interest in thematter was intermittent.
It is suggestive of his condition that when Moya's answer came to hisseven taps he took it quite as a matter of course.
"The son of a Greaser is back on the job at last," he said aloud withoutthe least excitement. "Now, I'll get that breakfast I ordered."
He crawled back to the foot of the shaft in a childish, absurdconfidence that the food he craved would soon be sent down to him. Whilehe waited, Jack fell into light sleep where he lost himself in fanciesthat voiced themselves in incoherent snatches of talk.